Gifted? Practiced? Or something else? Why I probably won’t get better at fly fishing anytime soon.
“If I were a fish, I’d hide there,” I thought, as I surveyed a small island some twenty to twenty-five feet off to my left. There, in the island’s shadow, I could safely park in the soft current – inches away from the river’s rushing water, yet close enough to dart out and snatch any food that drifts by.
